


Firepower

by Ponderosa



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Black Male Character, Canon Character of Color, Character of Color, Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderosa/pseuds/Ponderosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If it was anyone other than Fury, Rhodey would say this thing between them was more like two ticks from detonation on the timebomb of full-blown addiction. It's crazy as hell, no doubt there, but Fury's style of crazy is the sort that a man finds himself going along with whether or not he'd planned on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firepower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [helens78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/gifts).



> All I remember is that at some point Hels made noises about Rhodey/Fury sex in public and umpteen months later I finished something for it.

Bad habits aren't something Rhodey picks up, and sex in public leans more towards Tony's style. Accusations to the contrary stare him down, because what the fuck does he think he's doing with his back to the wall, his heart thudding in his chest, and his palms sticky with sweat as Nick Fury breathes obscenities against his ear.

If it were anyone other than Fury, Rhodey would say this thing between them was two ticks from detonation on the timebomb of full-blown addiction. It's crazy as hell, no doubting that, but Fury's style of crazy is the sort a man finds himself going along with whether or not he'd planned on it. Rhodey can't even remember how they got here, wedged in a dark corner of the base like a couple of high school kids making out under the stadium bleachers. Christ, repeal or not, they're hardly out of sight from any stray airman. He stomps down on the urge to crane his neck around the corner and peer between the stacks to make certain everything is still all clear. Fury doesn't seem to care, and ain't that just par for the course, whether it's putting Steve Rogers in his place, or aiming to fuck Rhodey into the wall in the middle of the damn file room.

"Does this make you uncomfortable, Lieutenant Colonel?" Fury asks. His hand pushes into Rhodey's pants, easily finding evidence to the contrary. The question had come coached in the tone reserved for petulant, wet behind the ears kids or smartass superheroes and Rhodey gets a little zing in the pit of his stomach. Fury's _teasing_ him, the asshole, and worse, the teasing makes him harder.

He doesn't tell Fury that he's starting to get off on snide remarks on top of being two seconds away from a reprimand, and just says, "It makes me question your judgment," in a tone that's far more hushed. Fury always seems to know what's going on, with timing that verges on theatrical, as if he's got his finger on the pulse of the universe. Rhodey prays under his breath that Fury's timing holds up as he submits to this madness yet again. This end of the base had better stay quiet; he's losing the will to walk away. His legs are already jelly and it's another dumbass decision in a long line of them that has him shirking his pants and shorts down to his thighs and giving Fury all the room needed to take him in hand.

"State of things in this world, Jim," Fury pauses to spit into his palm and pin Rhodey to the wall with the force of his expression alone, "I've got to take what I can get where I can get it."

Weight shifting since his legs are ready to fold, Rhodey admits that he's well and fucking committed now. The concrete against his back is chilly disapproval for breaking regs, and it scrapes and catches at the fabric of his shirt as he surrenders to the moment. Though he keeps hearing phantom bootsteps in the corridor leading to the stacks, the only sound he really pays attention to is the wet noise of Fury's hand on his dick. Damn, but the man's clever. Rhodey skims his knuckles down the front of Fury's long coat, flicking it aside to settle his hands on strong hips and enjoy the tension ratcheting up when he doesn't up the ante further. "Take what you can get, huh? You referring to the firepower or the quickie?"

Fury doesn't even smile as he strengthens his grip and jacks Rhodey slow and firm. "Both. Does _that_ make you uncomfortable?"

Rhodey rolls his eyes, the sarcasm lost to a flurry of blinks when Fury's free hand goes to his chin and holds him there for a kiss. The first time Fury took control and asked if that's how Rhodey preferred it, Rhodey set him straight, but it hasn't been the other way around yet. Fury just keeps blindsiding him and making it near impossible to think rationally let alone bother asking for a turn at the wheel. Why he couldn't just find someone nice and polite enough to take home to mama, Rhodey didn't know. It's one insufferable asshole he can't help but like and then another. Fewer strings, a whole lot less heartache, but there's no happily ever after when you're fucking the director of SHIELD.

He wrestles with the urge to moan when Fury muscles in closer. At the moment he feels the hot press of Fury's cock wedge up against his own, a voice floats in from somewhere too close for comfort. Rhodey's insides spin like they're in a blender, near nausea one second, dizzy excitement the next. He's pretty damn sure Fury won't let them get caught, not when things turned out just fine each time before, but it doesn't shut off the sudden panic rush of adrenaline or the way he bucks wildly into Fury's fist. 

"This has to stop," Rhodey mutters, his words not mirroring action. He slides his palms to the tops of Fury's thighs, up and over the rise of that fine ass that Fury hides in that ridiculously dramatic coat of his. Rhodey gets a good handful, fingers digging hard into flesh to urge him on, and Fury's grip finds the both of them, turns the spit-slippery push of Fury's dick against his own into something almost better than fucking. Rhodey knows he's filling the air with the harsh sound of his breathing, but can't seem to keep any quieter. He gasps as the motion of Fury's hips go from a slow roll to quick, tight jerks. They might not get caught, but if they go on like this he's going to wear the evidence.

The thought gets to him with a suddeness that does the trick of stealing his breath. Lungs seized, heart frozen, he goes lightheaded with lust, and it's the slight catches in Fury's breath that gets his own working again. After a decade of not giving in to any of Tony's deviant shit, now here he is fantasizing about walking through the halls with another man's come on his shirt.

Desperately wishing he could make noise, he pulls Fury hips tighter to his own, stares down at the powerful hand caged around their cocks. It's going to be messy, and he can't find the will to stop. He falls apart in Fury's hands, beneath his eye's steady gaze, under the feline slant of his mouth—all mystery, superiority and feral at heart.

The smell of spunk hits the air and Fury kisses Rhodey again, slower now, less assertive, his fist still working his own cock. Dimly, Rhodey thinks about lending a hand, but before he can muster the energy, fresh heat is spattering against his skin, soaking into his shirt tails, smeared into his pubes and over the softening length of his dick. Rhodey shudders again, the reality sinking in that he'll be marked as surely and secretly as if Fury had left him with bruises on his thighs. He staggers as he drags his pants back up, and with weak fingers, he tucks in the damp mess of his shirt and shorts.

Fury tidies up with maddening efficiency but sticks around for once. Rhodey needs more than a couple seconds himself to gather his wits, wondering faintly if this is as close to cuddling that Fury ever gets. They stand forehead to forehead, breath mixing, and with a nervousness that's embarrassingly boyish, he makes the move to press his mouth against Fury's. He puts his hands to Fury's face and keeps the kiss going until it's Fury taking a step back, choking on a sound that Rhodey's not sure he didn't imagine. Grudgingly, Fury opens more to Rhodey's tongue, his jaw quivering under Rhodey's touch as if yielding just for a second is something he can't risk. Down the corridor the voices are louder now, almost near enough to make out words.

Still, pulling away feels like struggling against gravity. Reluctantly, Rhodey slides his hands away, the pads of his fingers tingling from the faint scrape of Fury's stubble. It feels like the only thing calling his name now is his bed or a cold beer, but there's a whole afternoon that needs wading through. "This has to stop eventually," he says shakily, and there's no way he'll convince Fury of that if he can't even convince himself.

"Eventually everything stops," Fury agrees, eye sliding shut, chest swelling with a heavy breath.

For a moment thin as spider silk Rhodey feels an echo of all the weight born by the Director of SHIELD. There's a darkness in Fury, something more destructive and vicious than anything Rhodey had failed to patch up in Tony throughout the years. Bad fucking habits, Rhodey thinks. He can walk away if it comes to that, but even if he knows when to throw in the towel, he's not a quitter by nature.

"Well, until that day, guess I'll do my best not to run out of ammo," Rhodey says, clapping Fury on the shoulder, and for the first time since this became _a thing_ , he turns the corner so he isn't the last one left in the room.

Ten paces away, the rich sound of Fury's laugh ringing behind him makes him struggle against a grin. "You do that, Lieutenant Colonel," Fury calls out.

Forcing his expression to stay neutral, Rhodey says, "Yes, sir," and doesn't bother to turn around to toss a salute casual enough to be disrespectful. He makes it another ten paces before he can't keep the corners of his mouth down. Nearly mocking a superior, getting up to kinky shit on base, Rhodey wasn't stupid enough to breathe a word of it to Tony, but his dumbass best friend would be fiendishly proud of him today if he knew.


End file.
